


This Hollow Crown

by Chamelaucium



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arkenstone - Freeform, Gen, Gold Sickness, M/M, Shakespeare, Thorin doesn't die, kingship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-01
Updated: 2014-03-01
Packaged: 2018-01-14 03:13:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1250593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chamelaucium/pseuds/Chamelaucium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because when all is said and done, all it's brought is heartbreak and regret.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Hollow Crown

**Author's Note:**

> I'm quite nervous about publishing this because I don't really do depressing things but ever since I watched "The Hollow Crown" (which is amazing, by the way) this verse has just been in my head and it's quite appropriate, I guess... but I wrote this and I really don't know. I'd really appreciate feedback on this one!

> _...For within the hollow crown_
> 
> _That rounds the mortal temples of a king_
> 
> _Keeps Death his court and there the antic sits_.

_...Brings only Goodbyes_

They were beautiful in the moonlight. Beautiful in death as they were in life, only still. So very still.

A poisoned orcish arrow snuffed out Kíli's playful exuberance. Twin swords extinguished Fíli's light, like a candle left out in the wind - sudden, quick, over.

Now the only light that would ever shine again in their eyes was that of the single flaming torch in the burial chamber. They almost looked alive, as the fire flickered softly over their faces. Gently, like a caress; warm touches on cold skin. For they were so very cold.

Thorin couldn't bear to look at them. They were perfect even in death, not to be sullied by his gaze. They'd fought for him and died for him, but he'd fought for gold. What use was the gold now, with no heirs to pass it on to?

Day and night; sun and moon; fire and water. Gold and silver. His nephews fit together like two halves of a whole, a puzzle incomplete without the both of them. But like a child he'd charged ahead and broken what was his to protect, beyond repair. No more would Fíli be the Lion, the light of the Durin line; no more would Kíli be the Wolf, fierce and unerringly loyal.

Young men hardly more than boys, broken bodies laid out neatly to hide the wounds that would never heal. Lies, everywhere, even in death. Life was merely an illusion, blink and you'd miss it. Death has other plans, inescapable, unavoidable, aim sure and true.

Perhaps they were marked by death from the start. Perhaps it was inevitable.

But they were still so very cold, and even the hottest forges of Mahal couldn't warm them now until they reached His halls.

_...Brings only Regret_

Faces turned from him, eyes darting away from his. They couldn't bear the sight of him. The Company, people he'd loved and protected and fought with - fought for - couldn't look at him.

Once there stood a Prince of Durin's line; strong, sure, fierce, loyal.

Now there stood only a King weakened in both body and mind, spirit broken by loss. Mind ruled by the gold. The jewels. The mithril.

The siren's call of the gold heeded more strongly than the pleas of his company, the cries of the hungry outside his gate, the counsel of those who knew better.

He saw in the Arkenstone the cause of their downfall, the catalyst of the sorry state they now found themselves in: his own face, staring blankly back at him, distorted in the glass. For that was all it was, when all was said and done. Glass. He'd lost his nephews, lost his friends' loyalty, lost his love... All for a piece of shiny rock.

_...Brings only Heartbreak_

Perhaps he could have borne it, if Bilbo had stayed. Perhaps he could have taken it, if Bilbo had still been there.

But golden curls sought brighter air than that under the mountain, in this kingdom of darkness he'd caused, and the one he loved most escaped the dark halls of Erebor. It was his own fault, caused in the same fit of madness that had made him rush out in his folly and that had taken his nephews from him. He'd thrown Bilbo out -  _down_  - and he had only himself to blame.

He'd come back to say goodbye to the boys, tears glinting on his cheeks like tiny diamonds. But his eyes were cold when he saw Thorin; cold and brittle like shards of ice that would crack with the merest touch. His gaze was sharp like the jagged edges of that ice - ripping into him with accusation, blame, sorrow. Betrayal. It hadn't been Bilbo who'd betrayed them, as Thorin had so foolishly, jealously proclaimed;  _Thorin_  had betrayed  _him_  - betrayed him, betrayed his trust, betrayed his love.

So many words, so many thoughts left unspoken between them in the silence of that chamber, the air thick with them. They lodged in Thorin's throat, clawed at it and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get them out. So much he wanted -  _needed_  - to say but which stole his voice like blustering winds on a hillside, whipping it away.

Bilbo said nothing. The silence was so loud in that room, echoing with everything they'd gone through, they'd done together. Before all this. Before Thorin betrayed his heart.

He'd gambled and he'd lost. He'd played his cards - wrong. The stakes too high, the odds never in his favour; he'd lost everything he held dear. He had everything he'd wanted since the dragon came and only now, as he realised what he truly wanted and couldn't have it, did he learn that he'd yearned for mere trinkets when his true treasure had been there all along.

He looked upon his throne, his crown, strangled sobs tearing out of him in despair because  _were they worth it?_  He threw the crown to the floor before following it down, cheek pressing against the cold stone. Cold, cold, like his heart. He was never warm any more, the air under this mountain of rock stale and chill. No matter how many fires he lit, he couldn't feel anything other than the frozen cold of the rock. He lay there, shivering against the icy floor, no one there to hear the muffled sobs that racked his body as he fought the urge to toss the crown down into the deepest mines.

Because when all is said and done, all it had brought was heartbreak and regret.

> _...and humour'd thus_
> 
> _Comes at the last and with a little pin_
> 
> _Bores through his castle wall, and farewell king!_
> 
> _**Richard II -** _ **Act III Scene II**
> 
>  

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and I really would love to know what you thought about it. :)


End file.
